


Girl Made of Hope

by Shaitanah



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-27
Updated: 2011-05-27
Packaged: 2017-10-19 20:11:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/204753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaitanah/pseuds/Shaitanah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel visits his beloved daughter. [Castiel, Claire Novak]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Girl Made of Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to CW, Eric Kripke and other crazy people. Title from 7th Wave by JJ72.

**GIRL MADE OF HOPE**

 

He doesn’t have to look to catch glimpses of her through the window as she does her chores. She does everything now because there are days when her mother can barely force herself out of bed. She is a good daughter and she asks no questions, but then, she knows more than Amelia ever will. Perhaps that is why Amelia sometimes looks at Claire as if she were a stranger.

 

Street lights flicker when she walks out of the house, dragging a garbage bag across the porch. The night is filled with quiet rustling noises, like the whisper of unseen wings.

 

“You are not my father,” she says briskly, echoing his first words spoken with a human mouth years before. She looks him over, but she doesn’t _look_ at him.

 

She seems taller than he remembers. Her pale blonde hair is collected into a loose ponytail; her eyes are harder.

 

“I am now,” he tells her. “Beloved daughter, I am Everything.”

 

He thinks of how much good he will do, and makes plans for the world. All the love he has for these wretched souls shall not go to waste. He wants her to look at him the way Dean refuses to, but when she raises her eyes, she sees no splendour, no glory, no alpha and omega. There is no love in her eyes, but no fear or contempt either. He thinks back to the devastated underbelly of the Purgatory.

 

He wishes to do something for her, but there is nothing she will accept. Her knees are skinned. She fell off the bicycle. There is something innocent about these non-battle wounds. He likes that about children best of all; they don’t stop being children even when the world is ending. He holds out his hand and heals the bruises, covers her knees with tender patches of new skin.

 

But she does not go down to worship him. Perhaps the change in his focus is lost on her. She mattered little to the angel that he was, but she makes a world of difference to the being he has become. Beloved daughter. Aren’t they all?

 

“Children grow up,” Claire says suddenly.

 

A heartbeat of silence between them. He waits.

 

“That’s why parents leave them,” she adds. “Not because they don’t love them anymore.”

 

He remains rooted to the spot long after she’s gone back to the house, so long it seems that she should be dead already, bones in the dirt. But she will not tear him down with words, even if these are the words no one has thought to tell him. Even if the words are true.

 

 _May 27, 2011_


End file.
